


A Beginning

by lalunaunita



Series: Stories From le Bar des Vosges [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adult friends in the Miraculous universe, Adults that have been akumatized, Despair Bear spoilers, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Ladybug and Chat Noir will only make passing appearances, M/M, Romance, Season 2 spoilers, Zombizou spoilers, rare pairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalunaunita/pseuds/lalunaunita
Summary: Caline Bustier strikes up a conversation with Majordome Jean while she waits for Mendeleiev at Le Bar des Vosges.





	A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first one-shot in a series revolving around various adults in the Miraculous universe that don't get much screen time on the show.

Caline checked her watch, not even a little bit annoyed. She swirled the wine left in her glass and glanced over at the old, creaky door of Le Bar des Vosges.

Mendeleiev must have some grading to finish, Caline decided, draining her wine glass. Oh well. Sometimes Fridays were like that. She’d just have another glass while she waited. As grouchy as her compatriot seemed to the students, Caline knew how dedicated she was. Mendeleiev demanded much, but she gave as well. Admirable qualities in a teacher.

Caline lifted a finger to the pretty bartender, her gaze wandering over the other patrons. It was only five o’clock - the place wasn’t in full Friday night swing yet. She stopped when she saw her only neighbor at the bar - a tall man, slender, hair neatly trimmed, with a thin moustache. Caline frowned. What was the personal butler of Mayor Bourgeois doing here on a weekday?

Her glass refilled, Caline inched her way down to the man. His glass held liquor over ice, she noticed. _Uh oh_ , she thought as she took in his bowed head and slumped shoulders. Had he been fired or something? Caline politely cleared her throat.

The man’s head snapped up, but he relaxed when he saw Caline’s gentle smile.

“Aren’t you Jean - uh, Jean-” she fumbled for his full name.

“ _Si_ , yes, Butler Jean Something-or-Other, that’s me,” he replied, droll.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just that we’ve never been introduced.”

Jean waved off her apology and lifted his glass, then stopped midway to his mouth and set it back down.

“Please excuse me; would you like to have a seat?” He gestured to the bar stool beside him.

Caline stretched up on tiptoe and seated herself, long legs nearly touching the floor. Jean gave her a perfunctory half-smile, then raised his glass again.

“Your health, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking a small sip.

“I don’t mean to intrude, Monsieur, but is everything alright?” Caline asked.

She watched the man carefully. He had only recently been akumatized, after all. And with her own fresh experience of Hawkmoth’s control, she knew the raw emotions could linger.

Behind the glass, Jean’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “No need to be so formal. You can call me Jean. And yes, I’m alright. It’s been a trying day at Le Grande Paris, but nothing to be worried about. I won’t go running to Hawkmoth over it.”

Caline grimaced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s a little bit what you meant, Mademoiselle,” Jean replied, but his eyes twinkled.

Caline laughed. “Well, if I’m to call you Jean, you must call me Caline. Only my students call me Mademoiselle. And believe me, you have only my sympathy - not my suspicion.”

“I believe you. Ah, yes, you teach at Collège Françoise Dupont? And you have the honor of teaching my employer’s daughter, correct?”

Caline laughed again. Jean’s tone made it all too clear the kind of honor he meant regarding Chloe Bourgeois. Jean was far from the humorless subordinate she assumed Mayor Bourgeois thought he employed. And she liked how his moustache twitched every time he made one of his ironic comments.

“She can be a real so-and-so at times, can’t she?” Caline admitted.

Jean laughed, a short, sardonic bark. He finished his glass and set it quietly back on the bar.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it. I might choose other words, if it didn’t put my job at risk.”

“She’s only fourteen. Give her time,” suggested Caline.

“Words to live by,” Jean replied. He eyed his empty glass.

“Let me,” Caline offered, putting a hand on his shoulder. She caught the bartender’s attention. “One more for my friend?”

The young woman nodded and went to ready the drink. Caline rested an elbow on the bar and set her chin in her palm. No students to see her looking so informal, anyway.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at our little watering hole before, Jean. What brings you out?”

Jean restlessly slid his glass back and forth between two fingers, the ice clinking softly. “I am relieved by my second-in-command every third Friday for a night off. He let me sneak away a bit early this evening.”

“To drink alone?”

“Well… on short notice, yes.”

“But usually you would plan such an outing with friends?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, then,” Caline leaned back, satisfied.

“What about you, Caline? Are you not here on a Friday evening, drinking alone?”

“Ah, but I’m waiting for a friend, Jean. She just happens to be busy. And we meet here every Friday, short notice or not.”

“Mmm.”

Jean pretended to disbelieve her, but his dark eyes gave him away. Caline giggled. Was the wine going to her head? Surely not. It was only a leisurely glass and a half. Some little thrill wriggled in her stomach and she pressed on, feeling bold.

“I suppose now that we’ve met, we are each drinking with a friend, Jean.”

“Our mutual problem is solved,” he agreed.

The bartender brought Jean’s new glass and they toasted.

“Tell me about your day, Jean,” Caline asked.

“Oh, you mean what specifically drove me to a bar?” he replied.

Amazed, Caline stared. Jean didn’t employ any kind of small talk - he cut right to the heart of her meaning as though he read her mind. She nodded and he straightened up, taking on the air of a man asked to recite.

“Mr. Cuddly,” he announced solemnly, “went into the wash with the regular hotel laundry. He is specifically supposed to be laundered by hand using fragrance-free soap. His delicate seams will not hold up to machine washing, Caline. I am, apparently, too cruel for words. In addition, the floral scent is unseemly and will irritate Miss Bourgeois’ nasal membranes. My second-in-command, who will be canonized if my petition to the Pope is answered favorably, is currently completing the three hand washes required to bring Mr. Cuddly back to his normal non-scent. I, meanwhile, am in hiding lest a silver tray or some other implement of destruction is employed to remove my head from my shoulders.”

Caline’s eyes grew wider and wider as Jean spoke. When he stopped, she placed a hand over her mouth, but it was no use. Her laugh cut across the half-empty bar, filling its corners and echoing back to the two of them. Jean’s mustache twitched as he eyed her. Caline leaned over and laughed until tears were streaming from her eyes. She waved a hand at Jean apologetically, but he began to chuckle, too. He caught her free hand and then clapped her on the shoulder as he laughed.

“You- you and that damn bear! You should burn it!” she gasped, holding on to the bar.

“I can’t,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes. “She’d notice.”

“True, true. You’ll have to grin - and _bear_ it!” Caline replied, cracking up again.

Jean looked pained as he laughed. “That was beneath you, Caline. Chat Noir’s level, even.”

“That man has a talent for word play, even if you’re incapable of appreciating it,” Caline retorted.

“Friends are allowed to respect each other’s differences,” he decided, musing. “But the jokes are not good, Caline. They are too easy.”

“Fine, fine, have it your way,” she assented. “It’s not my problem if you have poor ta-”

She was interrupted by a loud, irritating ring. Jean grimaced. From one pocket, he produced a slim phone in a black case.

“I am summoned. It appears my night off is canceled,” he said, looking at the screen.

“Oh, Jean, how disappointing. I’m sorry,” replied Caline. She frowned. “That’s not very fair at all.”

Jean shrugged. “It is what it is.”

He pocketed the phone, but stopped and pulled it back out. He tapped its screen lightly with his thumbs, then turned it around.

“Mademoiselle Bustier - Caline - would you be so kind as to - uh, that is - may I call you sometime?”

A somber, but not stern, demeanor had replaced his playful attitude. Caline looked at the man seated next to her. He wore a smooth non-expression on his face and not a single hair was astray. Then she noticed the bright pink tips of his ears and the way he held himself perfectly straight, not even breathing.

“Certainly,” she smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story. I have more cooking up for these two, as well as other rendezvous among the various colleagues, neighbors, and friends local to Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste!


End file.
